


Cuddle Buddies

by Agrius



Category: Big Hero 6 (2014), Coco (2017)
Genre: Asian Character(s), Asian-American Character, Awkward Kissing, Awkward Sexual Situations, Awkwardness, Boys In Love, Boys Kissing, Consensual Underage Sex, Cuddling & Snuggling, First Kiss, First Love, First Time, Friends With Benefits, Friends to Lovers, Gay, Hand Jobs, Kissing, M/M, Mexican Character, Public Hand Jobs, Secret Relationship, Underage Sex, Young Love
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2017-12-21
Updated: 2018-01-19
Packaged: 2019-02-18 03:42:38
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Underage
Chapters: 5
Words: 7,385
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/13091694
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Agrius/pseuds/Agrius
Summary: Haven't seen Coco yet?  Go see it.  It's good.Haven't seen Big Hero 6 yet?  Go rent it.  It's good.Now imagine the boy from Coco and the boy from Big Hero 6 tongue-battling in a dimly lit bedroom.  What with all the hormones and the supple young bodies and the feeling things in the secret touchy night times getting hot and bothered between the sheets rubbing they jiggly bits on eachother but they can't tell nobody 'cuz then things be awkward as fuck so they stay on the DL for now.That's this story.(@w@);;





	1. Chapter 1

 

Hiro Hamada stared up at his bedroom ceiling, absently fiddling with a Rubix cube.  Mochi, his morbidly obese pet cat, slept on his chest, purring softly.  Baymax was powered down on his charging station in the corner.    

 

“C’mon dude… get here.”

 

His room was clean for once.  He had taken a shower and brushed his teeth.  Twice.  When asked about his sudden interest in hygiene, he’d told his Aunt Cass it was for no reason in particular.  

 

She didn’t really need to know the details.

 

Suddenly, the doorbell rang.

 

“I GOT IT!” Hiro shrieked at the top of his lungs as he bolted upright, scaring the absolute shit out of Mochi in the process.  He burst through his bedroom door, thundering down the stairs two at a time.

 

“Lemme in!” came a pained voice beyond the front door.  “Lemmeinlemmein _lemmein!”_

 

As fast as he could, Hiro worked the locks peppering the wall, twisting one, throwing another, undoing the deadbolt.  No sooner had the brass chain been set free, the door burst open like an unsealed hatch on a submarine, letting in a brown and white blur.

 

“ _Ay dios mio_ it’s cold out there!”

 

Hiro chuckled as Miguel rested his back against the door, panting, shivering with cold.  He was still in his soccer uniform from practice.  His bare knees knocked together, his hands working over his naked shoulders as his teeth clattered.

 

“Why didn’t you bring a jacket?”

 

“It wasn’t cold when I left the house,” Miguel wailed.

 

Hiro grinned.  “We’re in Frisco, _pendejo!_  It gets cold hella fast.”

 

“Why?!  It’s California!  It’s not supposed to be cold in California!”

 

“San Francisco isn’t California,” Hiro corrected.  “Ask anyone from L.A.”

 

Just as Miguel was about to protest, Aunt Cass’ voice rang out from the kitchen.  “Who was at the door, sweetie?”  

 

“Miguel, Aunt Cass!”

 

“ _Buenos tardes Señorita!”_

 

“Oh hi Miguel!”

 

“Can’t stay and talk, Aunt Cass,” Hiro called out, gathering up Miguel’s slender wrist and tugging him up the stairs.  “We’ve got a lot of homework.  Be down for dinner!”

 

“Homework on a Friday?” But the boys were already most of the way up the stairs.  Hiro jerked his friend into his bedroom, shutting the door with a woosh of air, locking it behind him.

 

“Dude… what is it with your family and putting locks on all the doors?  It’s like Fort Knox in here.”

 

Once the deadbolt was securely hilted and his desk chair was wedged up tight beneath the knob, Hiro spun around to face his friend.  A smile scrawled its way across his face.  

 

“Hi.”

 

“Hi,” chuckled Miguel, giving Hiro that adorable one-dimpled grin of his.  Hiro always forgot how pretty Miguel’s eyes were.  “You really that excited over little ol’ me?”

 

Hiro shrugged, resting against the doorframe, trying to look nonchalant.  “N-no.  Just… y’know.  Haven’t seen you in a few days.”

 

“Uh-huh.”  

 

Miguel padded over to Hiro’s desk, sloughing off his backpack.  Undoing the zipper, he produced a plastic grocery bag, which he unceremoniously tossed onto Hiro’s nice clean bed.  “Munchies.”

 

“What did you bring?”

 

“Tamales and conchas. And a blunt.”

 

Hiro’s eyes went wide.  “You did not!”

 

Miguel was struggling to suppress his giggles.  “We can crack a window!”

 

“MIGUEL!”  

 

“Okay okay!”  His friend held up his hands in surrender.  “Tomorrow then.  Can I stay over?”

 

Hiro sent out a puff of air, trying to blow his bangs out of his eyes.  “What do you think?”

 

Miguel grinned.  “ _Bueno_.  Well… now that you got me…” He peeled off his soccer jersey, exposing his usual plain wife-beater underneath. “…what do you wanna do?”

 

A faint pink hue bloomed over Hiro’s cheeks.  “I dunno.  We could… play video games.”

 

“Uh-huh.”  Discarding his jersey against a wall, Miguel took a casual step in Hiro’s direction.

 

“Or… we could… watch a movie.”

 

“Oh sure.” Another step.  Then another.

 

“Or you could… y’know… you were gonna teach me… how to… play guitar…”

 

Miguel’s smugly grinning face was now only a few inches away from his.  Hiro’s cheeks went from pink to bright red.  

 

“You really think I rode my bike a mile and a half in this arctic tundra weather… just to whoop your scrawny butt in Mario Kart?”  

 

Miguel’s breath plumed warm against Hiro’s lips.  Slowly his long, skinny arms reached out, banding around Hiro’s waist.  He was being pulled in, nestled against the boy’s chest.

 

“You smell nice,” Miguel purred into his ear, making Hiro shiver.

 

Hiro went to swallow but his throat was like sandpaper.  Miguel’s voice was always so soft and reassuring.  It made him feel safe.  Less scared by what they were doing.

 

“We don’t have to do this,” Hiro whispered.  But even as he said it, his fingers were snaking beneath the boy’s muscle shirt, sliding a hand delicately up the gentle curve of his spine.

 

“Ohh, I think we _do,_  mi amigo.  Both of us.”

 

“Okay, but…we can stop.  If you need to.  No judgements.”

 

“Shut up.”

 

Miguel’s long, tan fingers rose to the collar of Hiro’s shirt.  Gently they popped the top button, then the one below, then the one below that.  Until at last the final button fell free.  Hiro’s chest was exposed - soft and milky white beyond the loose folds.    

 

“We’ll go slow,” Miguel purred, the heat of his words dancing over Hiro’s lips.  “I promise.”

 

Hiro was suddenly aware that he had never wanted anything this badly in his whole life.  He nodded into his friend’s chest, too embarrassed to look him in the eye.

 

Closing his eyes, Hiro managed to swallow for the first time in ages.  His fingertips splayed out, sliding delicately up his friend’s spine.  His side.  His chest.  All the while, he was on the verge of a heart attack.  

 

“Look at me.”

 

Hiro shook his head.  

 

“ _Hiro._ ”

 

Hiro shook his head again.  But his chin was cradled.  His face was tilted up.  A kiss was stolen from his lips.  

 

Melting, Hiro kissed back.  Wet, sloppy and uncoordinated, but still, he was _there._  He hadn’t pushed Miguel off, hadn’t run away like last time.

 

As if sensing the boy’s thoughts, Miguel’s long, spindly arms pinned him against the wall.  Hiro could feel Miguel’s heartbeat through his shirt.  His head swam with purple flecks of light as his arms encircled Miguel’s neck, pulling him down.  Oh god.   _Ohgodohgodohgod._  

 

Suddenly Miguel’s arms were no longer around his waist.  The kiss was being broken.  Hiro felt a wave of fear and defeat.  Were they stopping?  Was that it?  Did he do something wrong?  But once he realized Miguel was just peeling off his muscle shirt, it was like every birthday, Halloween and Christmas rolled into one.  

 

They had never gone this far.  The hem of his shirt was over Miguel’s head.  Hiro watched his muscles appear - thin lines etched onto warm brown skin.  Mischievous eyes.  That one-dimpled smile.  They were kissing again.  Their chests were touching.   _Oh my god,_ Hiro’s brain screamed.   _Is this what this feels like?!  Why haven’t we done this before?  Why aren’t we doing this every hour of every day?!_

 

Miguel cradled Hiro’s cheeks in his hand.  The top ones.  Not the bottom ones.  Hiro would have fainted.  After a while they had to come up for breath, both panting, both winded like they’d been running marathons.  

 

Their foreheads brushed together.  Miguel looked down at him, worried.  Then a long smile parted his perfect, flushed lips.

 

“Dude… you are, like, beet red right now!”

 

Hiro’s eyes went wide.  He dug his thumbs sharply into his friend’s ribcage, causing the boy to recoil with laughter.  Planting his feet, Hiro threw his meager weight at him, attacking him with all the speed and intensity of a well-trained prairie dog, wrestling him to the ground.

 

“N-no!  Stop, _puta!”_

 

But Hiro would have naught of sympathy.  His secret boyfriend thrashed and squealed as Hiro tickled the absolute shit out of him.  His fingers raced over his midsection, his ribs, under his armpits, thoroughly exploring a body which he now had partial claim to.  Finally, once he was sure Miguel’s face was every bit as red as his was, Miguel managed to grab Hiro’s wrists, holding his tickling fingers aloft, rendering them inert.  

 

Hiro panted.  Miguel panted.  Hiro looked down at his friend.  His friend looked up at him.

 

God this felt good.  All of it.  Every bit of it.

 

Hiro allowed him to hold his wrists as they fought for breath.  Miguel’s large brown eyes caught in the triangle pane of light from the bedroom window, sparkling like glass.  His calloused hands slipped into Hiro's palms like water.  Their fingers dovetailed.

 

“You know you’re mine now, right?”  Miguel asked breathlessly, catching Hiro off guard.  “You’re mine.  And I’m going to keep you, and kiss you, and take care of you, and never give you away.  Because you, Hiro Hamada, are mine.”

 

Hiro’s face went slack. He could feel his cheeks heating up.  His vision misted over.

 

“Uh-oh,” Miguel grinned, playfully rocking his hips up.  “Someone’s getting some feels.”

 

The last thing Hiro remembered about that first night was diving on him, attacking his mouth, trying to wipe that goofy smile from Miguel’s lips with his own.

 


	2. Chapter 2

 

“So how do you say ‘aunt’ in Japanese?”

 

The boys were snuggled up together beneath the covers of Hiro’s old futon.  The colored glare of the flat screen TV danced over their faces as they disinterestedly talked through an old Kung Fu movie they’d both seen dozens of times before.  

 

“Aunt?”  

 

“Yeah.  Like, if I wanted to call your Aunt Cass ‘Auntie’ in Japanese, what would I say?”

 

Hiro chuckled.  “Dude, my Aunt Cass already loves you.  Why are you trying to score brownie points?”

 

Miguel tightened his grip around Hiro’s midsection, kissing his exposed shoulder.  “Who knows?  She might be my in-law someday.  If you play your cards right.”

 

Hiro nudged his friend in the gut, causing him to recoil with laughter.  “You’re such a dork. _Obasan.”_

 

_“Obaasan?”_  

 

“No.  That’s grandmother.  Short ‘ah’.”

 

_“Obasan?”_

 

“Yep.”  Hiro twisted around, planting a quick kiss on Miguel’s cheek.  “How do you say it in Spanish?”

 

_“Tia.”_

 

Hiro closed his eyes, nuzzling his cheek into the pillow.  “Mmn, that’s pretty.”

 

A handsome smirk spread over Miguel’s face.  “Hey dude… while I’m thinking about it, I got another question.”

 

“Shoot.”

 

“So, like… were you just straight-up born without an ass?  Or did you get into some sort of terrible accident and had to get it removed?”

 

Hiro’s eyes shot open wide.   _“What?!”_

 

Miguel’s face was stony and concerned.  “I mean, it’s fine either way.  I still like you or whatever.  I was just wondering if it was a birth defect or if a dog bit it off when you were a baby or something.”

 

Hiro’s cheeks turned pink.  “I have an ass!”

 

Unable to contain it any longer, Miguel’s face broke into its familiar one-dimpled grin.  “I’ve been spooning you this whole time, _esé_.  There is nothing back here.”

 

Sitting up, Hiro gave Miguel a mighty shove.  “I’m half-asian!  We don’t have big butts, thank you _very_ much!”

 

“I know, but… like, it’s _concave_.  Woodland creatures could use it as a shelter on rainy days.”

 

“FUCK YOU!”

 

Miguel giggled, wrapping his arms around Hiro’s waist and pulling him back down onto the futon.  “Aww, so sensitive about his wittle bitty tushie!”

 

Hiro huffed as Miguel gave him an affectionate squeeze.  “Whatever.  At least it’s not a big honkin’ red beans and rice butt like yours.  Does your family have to buy special pants for you?”

 

Miguel grinned.   _“Ay dios mio, Papi…_ you been lookin’ at my ass?  Got something sinful and perverted on your mind?”

 

Rolling his eyes, Hiro coiled his arms around his friends midsection.  Truth be told, he _had_ been looking.  Only every spare glance he could steal.

 

“Why do I like you so much?” Hiro sighed.  

 

“Um, because I’m strong and handsome like a powerful horse?  And because I’m spontaneous.  Especially when I do stuff like this…”

 

Hiro squeaked as he felt something flat and cold slip underneath his boxers.  His grip tightened around Miguel’s midsection as the boy’s hand slid over the bare curve of his ass.

 

“Oh, wow.  So there _is_ something back here!”  Fondle, fondle, fondle.  “I mean… it’s still super tiny.  Barely fills the palm of my hand.  But that’s okay I guess.  You come over to my house more often.  My _abuela_ will get you nice and thick in no time.”

 

By this point, Hiro’s squeaks had given way to panting.  His skinny arms clenched Miguel’s ribcage with each pass of the boy’s calloused hand.  

 

“Heheheh... someone’s getting excited.”  Miguel planted a gentle kiss on Hiro’s forehead.  “I can feel it.”

 

It was true.  In the span of ten seconds, Hiro had gotten rock hard.  The tent in his underwear was aggressively nudging Miguel’s inner thigh beneath the duvet cover.  

 

“M-miguel…” Hiro whimpered.

 

The boy’s hand immediately stopped its exploration.  “Too fast?”

 

Closing his eyes, Hiro licked his badly chapped lips.  “N-no.  It’s okay.  Just… _mff_ …”

 

Without warning, Hiro shifted over on top of his friend, straddling his waist.  Miguel found himself pinned to the bedsheets.  As Hiro leaned down to lick his throat, his eyes went out of focus.  

 

“Dude…” Miguel seethed.  His arms rose out from the covers, banding around Hiro’s slender neck.  “Just so you know, it’s gonna be real hard for me to stop in a minute or two.”

 

“Who said I wanted you to stop?” Hiro purred against his ear before taking Miguel’s earlobe in his teeth.

 

They had never gone this far.  The prospect of finally getting to use the packet of lube he kept in his wallet had Miguel dizzy with excitement.  His fingers gripped the scruff of Hiro’s neck, pulling him down.  

 

Right as they were about to kiss, three light knocks sounded on the bedroom door.

 

“Hiro?” came Aunt Cass’ voice.  “You didn’t come down for dinner, so I brought up a tray.  Are you boys hungry?”

 

Aunt Cass stood in the doorframe as muted whispers and a violent fumbling struggle ensued in the room beyond, followed by something heavy being dragged away from the door.  When it finally opened, Miguel’s bright brown eyes peeked out from the crack.

 

“Hey _obasan!_ Aww, you didn’t have to bring us food.  You’re too good to us, really.”

 

Caught momentarily off guard, Aunt Cass’ eyes lit up.  “Aww, Miguel!  You’re learning Japanese!”

 

“Heh… yeah.”

 

“You boys almost done?  I hate that they’ve got you doing homework on the weekend.”

 

“We just finished, Aunt Cass,” said Hiro.  Checking over his shoulder to make sure Hiro was fully dressed (he was) Miguel opened the door the rest of the way, taking the tray with two fixed dinner plates out of her hands.  

 

“Sorry about dinner, Aunt Cass.  Guess we lost track of time.”

 

“Yeah.  As a matter of fact, don’t worry about cleaning up _Señorita_.  Me and dandelion head will take care of the dishes.”

 

“Aww, Miguel!  I swear, sometimes I wish I could adopt you,” Aunt Cass beamed, pinching Miguel’s cheek.  “Well don’t stay up too late boys.”

 

“We won’t!” they chimed in unison.

 

After closing the door, Miguel rested his back against the painted wood, letting out a sigh.  They caught one another’s gaze and broke out in anxious giggles.

 

“Oookay, so… I definitely need to install that security camera sooner rather than later,” Hiro said, palming his face as Miguel brought the tray over.  

 

“Yes you do.”

 

Setting the tray down between them on the bed, Miguel collapsed back onto the crumpled sheets.  Hiro soon joined him, and the two contented themselves with staring up at the ceiling, delirious grins plastered across their faces.

 

“Y’know…” Miguel began after their adrenaline highs had subsided.  “...bony butt or no, I’m completely obsessed with you.  You drive me crazy.  And I love it.”

 

Tilting his head, Hiro brought a hand up, gently brushing the backs of his fingers over Miguel’s lips.  Gathering up Hiro’s hand in his own, Miguel pressed an affectionate kiss to the boy’s knuckles, lacing their fingers together.

 

“So, uuh… when you said that thing about not wanting me to stop, did you mean--”  

 

“Oh that moment has most definitely passed,” Hiro said with a blush and a smirk.  “Now c’mon _pendejo_.  Let’s eat.”

 


	3. Chapter 3

 

**Hiro’s POV**

 

 

_Plink!_

 

_Plink!_

 

_Plink plink!_

 

_THONK!_

 

I clap the pillow tight around my ears, trying to block out the gravel pelting my bedroom window.  It comes in spurts of ones and twos, separated by intervals of around five seconds.  

 

_WHUMP!_ A big chunk snags the windowsill.  

 

“Sigh.”

 

_Plinkplinkplinkplinkplinkplink~_ a fucking _handful_ peppers my window like a shotgun blast. “Oh _my gaaah,_ ” Tadashi squeals, sliding open the shoji screen dividing our rooms and pegging my back with one of his pillows.  “Will you just go out and talk to your boyfriend already?!  JEEZ!”

 

“He’s not my boyfriend,” I lie, tugging the blankets up over my head.  “And that’s not him outside.  It’s just… a really douchey sparrow.  Go back to sleep.”

 

After almost three months of dating, Miguel and I finally had our first real fight.  Not about anything big, mind you.  In fact, it was about something so laughably _not_ big, something so profoundly dorky and stupid that I’m embarrassed we argued at all.  Even more so now that we haven’t spoken in two days.  Two full days!  Two long-ass goddamn days without my best friend and occasional love pillow!

 

Another handful of gravel peppers the window.  Three more sobakawa pillows hit my back.  

 

“GAH!   _FINE!_ ”

 

I get up with a flourish, not bothering to turn on the light as I make a fussy little dance of getting dressed.  Once my sweatpants are finally on the right way and I’m stepped into the backs of Tadashi’s giant shoes, I knock the first five notes of “Shave and a Haircut” on the window pane and stumble my way out the bedroom door and down the stairs.  

 

“Your boyfriend’s outside,” Aunt Cass calls from her armchair, sipping a glass of red wine.

 

“HE’S _NOT_ MY BOYFRIEND!” I lie again as I fish around in the hall closet for anyone’s coat.  Nothing.  Okay, fuck it then.  I throw open the door, immediately regretting my hubris as an arctic wind scalds my flesh.

 

_“Bb-Bb-bbbb-bbbb-fffff!”_ clatter my teeth as I trudge over crunchy, dew-slicked grass.  My breath fogs white before me as I round the alleyway running beside our brownstone, minding the rocks and rough terrain.

 

Miguel’s lanky silhouette rests against a tree in the backyard garden.  His oversized jacket looks thick and toasty warm.

 

“Hey.”

 

I pause, moving to casually slip my hands in my pockets, only to realize that I have no pockets to slip them in.  “Hey.”

 

With introductions out of the way, neither of us knows what to say.  Miguel rolls a pebble around with the toe of his hiking boot.  I grind a twig into two smaller twigs beneath the heel of my brother’s shoe.

 

“Aren’t you freezing?”

 

“No,” I lie.

 

Miguel nods, staring at his feet.  A vacuum of icy wind settles between us.

 

I try to suppress a shiver, but I can feel myself chilling to the bone.  Miguel watches me.  A smirk plays across his lips.

 

“Y’know… this whole makin’ up stuff would probably go a lot smoother if you came over here and got in my jacket.”

 

My eyes go wide as he unzips his oversized coat, holding the flaps open, revealing a thin torso cloaked in warm-looking long johns.  I shiver, making no move to join him in Jacket Town.  Despite missing him terribly, I’m still not ready to forgive him.  But then I notice that I can’t feel my fingers, so I hurriedly slink over to join him in Jacket Town.

 

“Theeeere we are.” he chuckles as I wrap my frozen limbs around his scalding-hot torso.  He quickly shutters the flaps around me, zipping it up over my back.  I’m suddenly encased in the fleece’s velvety warmth.

 

“Better?”

 

I nod into his chest.  Miguel is about half a head taller than me, so my face is half-in, half-out of the jacket’s collar.  His arms withdraw into his sleeves, tucking beneath me, holding me close.

 

Miguel leans into Jacket Town and kisses me on the top of my head.  “I’m sorry we fought.”

 

I’m too busy enjoying his body heat and the smell of his chest to give anything but a noncommittal “Mmph.”

 

“Even though I maintain that _Master of the Flying Guillotine_ is by far the greatest kung-fu movie of all time, I completely respect that some people… namely you… think that _The One-Armed Swordsman_ has a more compelling rags-to-riches narrative.”

 

By this point I have a boner.  From all the heat and proximity.  There’s no way he can’t feel it.

 

“... _even though_ …” he continues, tracing his fingers down the bumps of my spine.  “...the fight choreography in _The One-Armed Swordsman_ looks like a high school play and the production values look like spoiled mayonnaise on hot garbage… still… I’m sorry for fighting.”

 

I kiss his chest.

 

“... and for you being wrong.”

 

I bite his chest.

 

“ _Ouch!_ ”  he seethes.  “Bad puppy.”

 

_Oh god.  I love him._

 

This wasn’t a new realization.  I’d known for a few months.  Still, I can feel a stone settling in my gullet.  Because it means that we’re nearing a point of no return.  Pretty soon we won’t be able to just be friends anymore.

 

“Mmmmggphhhfufhhh.”

 

“What’s that?”  He pulls the zipper down a bit, freeing my head.  

 

I crane my neck to look up at him.  “You, uuh… you wanna come inside?  Like… for the night?”

 

He gives me that one-dimpled smile I love so much. "I'd like that."

 

God he has such pretty eyes.  Brown, almond-shaped, and oh-so pretty.

 

“KISS HIM, YOU FOOL!”

 

My eyes go wide.  “Tadashi, if you don’t stop ear hustling I swear to god I’ll be hiding your tools all over the house tomorrow!”

 

Tadashi chuckles and disappears beyond the overhead window frame.  I sigh, resting my forehead on Miguel’s chest.  

 

“He’s right, y’know.”

 

I groan, wriggling around and fingering the back of the zipper down.  “Uh-huh.  C’mon loverboy.”

 

Gathering up his hand in mine, I lead Miguel through the biting cold, over the crunchy grass, sidestepping us through the obstacles with ease.

 

“Aunt Cass,” I call out at the doorway.  “Me… Miguel… some lame excuse… sleepover…”

 

“Yep.  Late-night study session.  Got it.”  She nods, not looking up from her book.  “I’ll call his parents.”

 

“Thanks.”

 

_“Buenos noches_ _señorita_ _.”_

 

“Hi Miguel.  Don’t throw rocks at the window, honey.  You’re family.  Just knock next time.”

 

“Yes ma’am.”

 

Up the stairs.  Fumbling out of coats and jeans and anything else not PG-13.  Kicking the oversized shoes over towards Tadashi pretending to be asleep on the other side of the open shoji screen.

 

“Can your Aunt Cass, like, _adopt me?_ ” Miguel asks as we slip under the blankets and arrange ourselves against one another.  

 

“Mmn… no,” I purr, resting my head on his chest.  “Because then this would technically be incest.”

 

“I’m totally fine with that.”

 

“Ew.”

 

His arms, so long and spindly, encircle my back.  My feet press down against his, our toes curling together.  I allow myself a pervy 5-second inhale of his shirt.  Mmmn… _cute latino boy_.

 

I yawn, listening to the gentle _lub-thub_ of his heartbeat.  Calloused fingers reach up, stroking a lock of hair behind my ear.

 

“Hiro?” he whispers softly.

 

“Mn?”

 

“I have something I need to tell you.”

 

“W-what is it?” I ask, suddenly more awake.

 

“Yeah, what is it?” Tadashi whispers excitedly.

 

“Tadashi, I _sweartogod…_ ”

 

My brother makes a shield with his blanket, blocking all the pillows I return to him.  Miguel chuckles, stroking the back of his finger over my flushed cheek.  “Well… maybe tomorrow then.  We’ll make a date of it.”  He presses a light, impossibly delicate kiss to my forehead.  “G’night Hiro.”

 

“G’night Miguel.”

 

He drifts off to sleep within minutes.  I lay awake in the dark watching the rise and fall of his chest, listening to the gentle in and out of his breathing.  With a stomach full of butterflies.  And a heart heavy with words needing to be said.


	4. Chapter 4

 

**Miguel’s POV**

  


I really… really… _really_ like this boy.

 

Really.  It’s all I can think about as I hold him close at 4 o’clock in the morning with a freak San Francisco shower pattering the window outside.

 

Hiro’s my favorite thing about America.  I don’t think I could handle this new school, or shopping at Target, or all of the many squabbling bums littering San Francisco’s streets if I didn’t have him to look forward to.  When I’m around him, I actively try to downplay just how much he gets to me because I don’t want to scare him away.  

 

His house always smells like croissants and tea.  And his family is super supportive!  As opposed to, say, _my_ family.  Who we do our very best to tiptoe around and avoid being seen together in front of.  But that’s another story.

 

Cradling Hiro against me, mooching off his warmth, I get the overwhelming urge to touch his junk.  

 

That last sentence is definitely not as romantic as the couple of paragraphs that preceded it, granted.  But bear with me.

 

Believe it or not, in the almost three months that we’ve been secretly dating, Hiro and I have yet to touch each other’s stuff.  Lots of rough kissing and late-night phone jack-off sessions that eat into our respective data plans.  But no touchy-touchy.   _I know, right???_ So weird!  After all, we’re both fertile, supple teenage boys in the blossom of youth.  I find him insanely attractive, and - correct me if I’m wrong here, sleeping Hiro - I’m pretty sure the feeling’s mutual.  So then… why… haven’t we… _touched eachother’s dicks?!_

 

Sorry.  I’m sorry.  It’s just… I’m a little frustrated.  

 

Truth be told, Hiro’s actually to blame, if you wanna call it that.  He’s… new.  To all of this.  

 

I’m pretty inexperienced as well, don’t get me wrong.  But Hiro is NEW new.  As in, I was the one who jump-started his feelings for boys.  And before he met me, he earnestly believed he was destined to be a breeder.  

 

(I nibble his earlobe.  He purrs in his sleep, arching his butt into my lap, the back of his neck erupting in goosebumps.   _Nope - you definitely don’t like girls, dandelion head._ )

 

Where was I?  Oh yeah - so Hiro’s new.  And he’s… nervous.  He wants to take things slow.  Which is understandable!  I’m totally fine with doing the best-boyfriend-in-the-world thing.  I can be patient!

 

But at the same time… I’m fourteen.  And he’s cute.  And sometimes, when we’re making out on his bed, or on the couch downstairs when his Aunt Cass isn’t around, I get so painfully hard that I’m scared the blood will never go back into my body and I’ll be forced to ride my bike to the hospital to get it drained.  So hard that the friction of my own dick in my underwear makes me wince, and we have to take a break.

 

So I can’t help but wonder if Hiro would be mad if I, like… maybe just a little bit… in his sleep…

 

The thought turns my stomach as soon as it enters my mind.  I’m not about to molest Hiro, sleeping or no.  Even if I have an erection.  A violent one.  Even if Hiro’s buttcheeks are kind of, like, _cradling it_ , and he has this nasty habit of squirming around in his sleep, so it feels like he’s actively trying to back his ass up on my crotch while I’m smelling his hair and feeling all his warmth against my - FUCK IT!  My hand is going down his shorts in t-minus three!  Two!  One...

 

…

 

…

 

… _ay dios mio._

 

And I’d thought his _body_ was scalding hot.   _Woof._

 

It kind of… sprung up into my hand.  Like an old friend at the airport that gets a running start and collides with you in a dervishing hug.  It’s warm and hard, and wow - that was an awful simile for putting your hand on someone’s dick.  I am truly sorry.  Really, I’m ashamed of myself.

 

Hiro stirs against me.  I grind my molars.  Thankfully, he only nuzzles down into his pillow, remaining asleep.  

 

Wow.  WOW.  He’s… decently proportioned.  Like… not as long as mine, probably, but surprisingly thick.  Holy crap! Hiro has a chode!

 

I stroke my fingers gently down the length of it, my wrist mussing the little tuft of soft, wiry hairs underneath.  His foreskin rolls back easily, like the skin on a rotting peach.  Man… I _really_ need to work on my similes.   

 

For a while I just lie there, a Cheshire cat grin carved across my face as I make slow, careful work of jacking him off.  If there was ever a time when I was as rock-hard as I was right then, it has been lost to memory.  Without even looking, I can tell that a dark spot is forming on my boxers.  Sinful desires swim through my head at an astonishing rate.

 

_Yeah… you like that, Hiro?_ My thoughts purr amorously.   _You like my hands on you?  Touching you?  Making you feel good?  I can do this anytime you want, Hiro.  Whenever you need it.  All you’d have to do is ask._

 

I nibble the skin at the base of his ear.  I need to feel him shiver, to feel him pushing back against me.  

 

_It wouldn’t even have to be when we’re alone.  You hear me, Hiro?  It could be in a crowded movie theatre.  A service corridor in the mall.  In the laundry room at my house in the middle of dinner when my family thinks we’re in the kitchen grabbing seconds.  Wherever you want._

 

Rest assured, I feel just terrible.  I know that what I’m doing is morally wrong.  I’m not a monster.  But… fuck… try to put yourself in my tube socks for a moment!  We’re half-naked, he’s warm and soft, and he’s _cute!_ My conscience is off somewhere downstairs making coffee, grumbling that it’s too early for all this shit.

 

As if psychically registering my turmoil, Hiro decides that right now would be an awesome time to wake up.

 

“ _B’wugh._ ”

 

His face comes alive in increments.  His dark eyelashes blink as his face unhinges in a yawn.  He smacks his lips, eyes closing again, only to shoot open once he takes inventory of the rest of his body.

 

“W-wh…”  A startled eye turns on me.

 

“Oh… _hey_ .”  I chuckle awkwardly, hard as a plank against him.  “I, uuh… I was gonna make you breakfast in bed.  But it’s cold, and this was cheaper, so… _yeah_.”

 

I watch on, terrified as he wriggles his hips, confirming that there is in fact a foreign hand gripping his morning erection.

 

_Please don’t be mad.  Please don’t be mad.  Please-oh-please don’t be mad…_

 

Taking stock of the situation, Hiro twists around to face me.  I can feel now just how hard he has become.  My fingers are wet where I touched him.  

 

He kisses me.  And not just any kiss either.  Certainly not the usual timid Hiro kiss I get in secluded alleyways and abandoned classrooms.  No - this one was full-on.  Confident.  Fierce.  His arms band around my neck as a small, kittenish tongue slips into my mouth.  I find myself kissing back with wild abandon, gripping his waist, pulling him against me.  His underwear is hiked partially down, his naked erection frotting mine.

 

We break just long enough for him to lean in and whisper:  “I want you inside me.”

 

Oh my GOD.  Fireworks.  Fireworks between my ears.  Behind my eyelids.  Breaking out over my skin.  

 

On some level, I know we can’t.  There’s a checklist.  Bullets upon bullets of prep work that would have to be done.  Stuff we needed to buy.  Stretches.

 

But FUCK... how I _want_ to!

 

Suddenly I’m on top of him, crouched between his legs.  Leveraging his muscle shirt over his head, praying that someone remembered to lock the door.  Our tongues wrestle together.  His hand finds mine, sliding it down until my fingers are once again resting on his manhood.  

 

“ _Please_ ,” Hiro pants against my cheek, writhing beneath me.  “ _Please._ ”

 

My brows form a surprised peak.  I kiss him a bit too roughly, gripping him as his long fingers make short work of pushing his boxers the rest of the way down.  It takes a bit between all the kissing, the grinding, and the blood rushing out of my head before I can fall into a workable rhythm.  Hiro squirms beneath me, mewling, our tongues wrestling for dominance as the heavy duvet falls to the ground beside the bed.  His fingers find the sizeable tent in my boxer shorts, gripping me through them.  My whole body shudders.

 

“D-don’t stop!”  He pants wetly.  “P-please!  God…”

 

I feel powerful.  I’m not ashamed to admit it.   My touch has him rutting up against my palm.  His lightly freckled arms are wound tightly around my neck, beads of sweat forming in the furrows of his brow, his wet lips parted, moaning.  I feel like a million bucks.

 

“ _You’re so fucking cute_ ,” I growl against his ear.  His cheeks flush like he has a bad fever.

 

“I’m… _ggn_ … dude, I’m about to!  I’m about to~”

 

I cover his mouth with mine, shutting him up as my hips grind into his.  I barrel down against him, stealing his breath, his words, whatever there is to take.  

 

All at once, I feel Hiro twitch.  His body jerks and spasms.  His arms tighten to a vice around my neck.  His moan breaks the kiss we’re sharing.  I feel a dampness seeping over my belly.  

 

After a while, Hiro’s lithe form goes slack beneath me.  He holds me close, panting like he just finished running a marathon.  I can smell him now - metallic, syrupy, sickly-sweet.  I bring a finger up to my lips and lick it, causing Hiro to wince.

 

“Ugh… don’t do that.”  he groans.  But it’s a weak protest - one without gravitas or enthusiasm.  

 

I collapse against him.  My wrist is locked up, I’m sticky and sweaty, and my cheeks hurt from smiling so much.

 

“Hey Miguel?”  comes a timid little voice from the pillow beside me.

 

“Mmmph?”

 

“I love you.”

 

My chest tightens.  Butterflies do barrel rolls in my stomach.  I turn my face a tad, pushing my smiling lips against his ear.  “I love you too, Hiro Hamada.”

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Gosh I hope Tadashi had left for school already! 
> 
> Jesus Christ, Miguel. Did you even bother to check? (OwO);;


	5. Chapter 5

 

**Miguel’s POV**

 

Ugh.

 

Ugggh…

 

_Uggggggggggggggggggggggggggggggghhh…_

 

I want to die.  Somebody… _anybody…_ please kill me now…

 

Squinting at myself in the toothpaste-flecked mirror, I looked dead already.  Like someone just fished my body out of a storm drain.  Pale, pasty, puffy, sweaty.  Lines on my face and creases under my eyes like I’d just finished reading _Bajo la Misma Estrella_.  Eyelids gunky.  Nose rubbed raw.  

 

Bronchitis sucks major donkey dick.

 

I flipped the light, shuffling my way back to my mess of a bed, not even bothering to scrape off all the wadded-up tissues and crumpled snack wrappers before collapsing horizontally across the sweaty sheets.  I was sore.  Everything hurt.  My mouth was full of sawdust.

 

“ _Miguel_ ,” came my older sister’s voice at my door.  “Mom says it’s time for dinner.  She wants me to see if you’re still alive.  And if you want some barbeque.”

 

“ _Uuuughh!_ ”

 

“Okay, well… like, is that a yes?”

 

“ _Uuuuuuuuuuuuuuuggggghhh!!_ ”

 

“MOM,” the voice called downstairs.  “Miguel’s dead.  And he doesn’t want barbeque.”

 

I went to pry myself from my bed sheets but couldn’t.  They were sticky.  Through no fault of my own for once.  

 

 _This is a good place to die,_ I thought to myself.  In a room reeking of swamp dick and murdered time.  Ass-up in bed in my boxer shorts, surrounded by wreaths of Twinkie wrappers and wadded mucus rags gleaming like bolls of cotton beneath a scalding Mississippi sun.  What an honored and dignified way to go.  Who could ask for better?

 

Just as I was about to die, however, my phone rang.  

 

_♬♪~Oh yes I love her like PUSSY!  MONEY WEED!!  PUSSY MONEY WEED, PUSSY MONEY WEED!! ohyesIloveherlike~♬♪_

 

The noise was coming from somewhere in the tangled mess of my blankets.  I slapped at the bed sheets like a beached manatee, variously trying to find my phone and destroy it as the throbbing in my temples synced up with the obnoxious Lil Wayne tune.

 

My knuckles hit something hard and iPhone-y.   _Gaah!  Found it!_

 

I swiped the screen without bothering to check who it was.  Only twelve people had my number.  Most of them were downstairs.  Two more were girls at school who were mad at me.  And I’d been expecting the last one to call me all day.

 

“ _Uggggggggh._ ”

 

There’s a long pause on the other end of the line.  “Wow.  That bad, huh?”

 

I raked my manatee flipper out, scooping the champagne-colored status symbol up and drawing it into my midsection, whereupon I promptly curled around it.  “ _Hiroooooh,_ ” I moaned pitifully.  “I’m dying.”

 

Over the line, Hiro took a bite of something crunchy.  “We all are, dude.  We all are.”

 

“Yeah, well…” I sniffled.  “I’m doing my dying expeditiously.  Are you _eating?_ While I’m on my _deathbed?_ You _asshole?_ ”

 

Another loud crunch.  “It’s an apple,” he said.  As if that made it better.

 

“Mmmf…” I coiled tighter around the phone, resting my cheek on my arm.  “Bring the apple here.  Feed it to me like I’m a pretty princess and you're my loincloth-wearing servant boy.”

 

Hiro chuckled.  “You want me to come over?”

 

“You’d probably need a HAZMAT suit and government clearance.”  I grinned.  “But yeah. I want you here with me.”

 

There was a pause in the apple-chewing.  “... oh yeah?”

 

“Mm-hmm.”

 

“What, uhh…” fingers drumming on a desk.  “What would we… do?”

 

A bleary grin scrawled across my face.  I sat up.  “You mean, if you came over?”

 

I could hear him set the apple down.  “Yeah.”

 

“Oh, well…” I drummed my fingers in my lap, pretending to ponder it.  “We’d probably play some video games.  Maybe watch some funny videos.  Maybe do some homework.”

 

“Uh-huh?”

 

“And then...” I collapsed back down on my pillow, grinning at the ceiling.  “...once the door was locked and everyone went to sleep… maybe we could put on an old horror movie.”

 

“Uh-huh?”

 

“And… we could get under the covers… big spoon and little spoon… with the lights off.  I would slip my hand up under your shirt… and rub your belly while we watched.”

 

The creaking of a chair.  “Hold on.”  I listened along as Hiro got up, padded across the creaky floorboards in his socks, and _click!_ ― locked the bedroom door.

 

More padding across floorboards.  The sound of an old spring mattress shifting under a cute tush.  “ _Uh-huh?_ ”

 

“Are you wearing anything?”

 

Across two miles of satellite space, I heard my boyfriend swallow.  “Just… a shirt.  And my boxers.”

 

“Where’s Tadashi?”

 

“Downstairs.  Getting destroyed by Aunt Cass in Monopoly.”  

 

“Take off the shirt.  Leave the boxers.”

 

I listened intently as he followed my instructions to a T.  I closed my eyes, eagerly imagining what I was hearing.  That ugly old brown shirt sliding over Hiro’s little paunchy stomach… up his chest… over his inexplicably freckled shoulders… popping free of his floofy dandelion head.  

 

“Lay down,” I commanded.  “Turn off the lamp.  Put me on speaker and close your eyes.”

 

As he did all this, I quickly fished a fresh Kleenex from its box and blew the absolute shit out of my nose.  Mucus and dying would not adversely affect my flirting this night.

 

“Ya done?”

 

A heavy breath against the receiver.   _“Yeah.”_

 

I nuzzled my cheek against the impossibly smooth screen, wishing it was him.  “So… where were we?  Oh yeah… so, I’m rubbing your belly, right?  And then… as _Dracula vs. Frankenstein_ is playing, I’ll gently press my scalding-hot lips to your neck.  As my hand slips further up your shirt, I’ll hear you make that cute little whimper you make whenever I touch you.  Y’know… the one that makes me so, SO horny.”

 

Coincidentally, and not at all just for my benefit, I hear Hiro whimper.  

 

I grinned, hard as a board.

 

“ _What else?_ ”

 

“Nuh-uh,” I shook my head, as if he could see me.  “Your turn.  I gotta get off too, y’know.”

 

There was a pause.  Long.  Defeated.  I could just make out the unmistakable sound of fingers working beneath elastic.  It was forever before he said anything.

 

“I, umm… I stole your shirt.”

 

I blinked.  What?  “What?”

 

“I stole your shirt,” Hiro repeated, blushing through the phone.  “Your, uuh… Type O Negative tee shirt.”

 

I blinked again.  “I thought I lost it.  Or my mom threw it away.”

 

“Nope.  It’s here.  I keep it under my bed.  I’m looking at it right now.”

 

I felt relieved.  Then confused.  Then it hit me like a sock full of oranges.

 

“I, uuh,” he moaned against my ear.  “I…”

 

“Tell me what you do with my Type O Negative ‘95 World Tour commemorative shirt.”

 

“I…” he swallowed, licking his dry lips.  “I wait until Tadashi’s gone to sleep.  When I haven’t seen you for a couple of days.  And I’m… ggn… _frustrated_.”

 

By this point I am molesting myself with all the verve and audacity of a sailor on shore leave. Just the thought of Hiro alone in his room… or even better, trying to sneak a quickie while his brother slept… using MY shirt…

 

“I, umm… “ he continued, sounding close.  “S-sometimes I put it on.  Most times, though, I… just…”

 

_Fap fap fap fap fap fap fap fap fap._

 

“...I just like to… smell you.  In my bed.  On… on me.”

 

Jesus.  “God I want you so fuckin’ bad right now.”

 

I heard him swallow.  “I want you too.”

 

“Hiro,” I pinched my eyes shut.  “Please… pretty please… can we stop being virgins before the month is out?  I know it’s not gentlemanly to ask, but I’m _begging_ you.”

 

“Heh.  I’ll do you one better.  Dashi and Aunt Cass are both gonna be out of town next weekend.”

 

I sat up.  “YEAH?!”

 

“Yeah.  And… you’re definitely coming over.”

 

“Can we…” My mouth felt dry.  “Can we… do… stuff?”

 

“Oh yeah.”

 

Alright Miguel.  Big swing.  “Can we… do… eachother?”

 

Hiro chuckled.  “Duh.  I wasn’t lying a few days ago when I said I wanted you inside me. I, uhh…” he licked his lips.  “I wanna feel you spreading me open.  I want to scream your name while you grip my hair and push me down into my pillow.”

 

And BOOM goes the dynamite.

 

It just _hit._ Before I could even register what was going on, I was finishing.  In my shorts.  On my belly.  Bedsheets.  Dirty Kleenexes.   _Hair._ Basically just a fantail pattern of finishing all over.  Muscles locking up.  Head thumping back against the pillow.  Molars grinding into powder.

 

 _“Ggggggf!”_ came the noise from my phone.  I tried to listen, but I was panting too hard.  

 

We rested there for what felt like forever, curled around our respective phones, marinating in our respective fluids.  

 

“ _God._ ” Hiro heaved.

 

“I know, _right?”_

 

I hear him palm the sweat from his face.  

 

“Y’know…” I grin at the blackened screen.  “I'm actually more excited about seeing you next week than I am for my own birthday.”

 

I could practically feel Hiro blush through the cold static.  “Likewise.  But, hey… I gotta go see if Tadashi ever got his railroads back. The top hat was losing to the corgi pretty bad when I left.”

 

“It’s a Scottie dog,” I smirk tiredly.  “And… _okay_.  I guess I’ll let you go.  For now.”

 

Hiro planted a comically loud kiss to his phone’s screen.  “Love you, Migs. Get to feeling better, ‘kay?”

 

“I love you too dandelion head.”

 

“Nite.”

 

“G’night.”

 

Of course we continued to stay on the line for another 10 seconds.  Because hormones.  And lovestruck teenagers.  

 

Finally, when the urge to say ‘I love you’ again got too bad for me to handle, I pressed the button on the side of my phone, turning the screen on.  I found the little red circle with the phone facing downward, like an eyeless frowny face.  I poked it, and the line went dead.  I went back to being sick as a heat-crazed cow.

 


End file.
